


Reformat

by Useless19



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: A Very Complicated Relationship, Amnesia, Aromantic, Asexual Character, M/M, One Shall Rise AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 12:04:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20760065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Useless19/pseuds/Useless19
Summary: Megatron fights the Matrix’s plan, leaving Optimus to deal with the consequences.





	Reformat

It was strange how you never noticed how much noise a spark made until it had been extinguished.

Megatron came to in silence. He knew before he looked that Unicron’s spark was gone, the strut-deep _thrum_ gone quiet. Whatever Optimus had done while Megatron had been unconscious had worked.

And speaking of Optimus. He was face-down on the ground, unmoving. It was hardly a surprise that it had taken a lot of energy to defeat the Chaos Bringer himself.

Megatron stalked over, blade at the ready. He only had moments before the rest of Optimus’s team would break through to Unicron’s spark chamber too. They were no true threat, but he wanted to see their faces when they saw Optimus defeated at Megatron’s hand.

Optimus still wasn’t moving. He wasn’t even venting. Megatron frowned and flipped him over with his pede.

"Online, damn you," Megatron snarled.

Nothing.

Optimus had played dead in past fights to gain an advantage before, so Megatron was cautious when he knelt and pressed his claws against Optimus’s fuel line to gauge pressure.

Nothing.

Megatron pressed his audial to Optimus’s chest.

There! A slight hum.

Yet nothing like a healthy spark-pulse.

"You don’t get to die here." Megatron levered Optimus’s windshields out of the way and started prising apart his chestplates. "It will be by my hand or not at all. You are _mine_ to kill."

Optimus’s spark was barely alight, but what caught Megatron’s attention was the Matrix of Leadership, bright and ethereally shiny. It was pulsing with life and, even as Megatron watched, it pulled strength from Optimus’s spark to fuel itself.

Megatron wrapped his servo around it, the surface was burning cold against the metal of his palm. He tugged, but it was stuck fast.

"You are nothing, a trinket of a dead god," Megatron snarled, pulling with all his might. "And he is _mine_."

The Matrix _pulled back_ in a spark-wrenching yank and Megatron knew no more.

* * *

Optimus onlined.

He ached all over. The Matrix’s power was immense and acting as a conduit for it, even for a few scant moments, was almost more than his frame could bear. The upgrades he’d received when it had chosen him now made sense.

He closed his chassis, frowning as his chestplate caught and he had to manually push it the last few inches until it clicked into place. The Matrix must have warped the metal; he’d have to get Ratchet to fix that.

Megatron was still unconscious. It would be an ideal time for a merciful coup de grâce if Optimus acted fast enough, but something deep within his spark recoiled at the idea — as it always did.

The others would be here soon. Optimus should at least restrain Megatron for their safety. He approached, blaster at the ready.

Megatron groaned and lifted his helm, squinting blurrily at Optimus.

"Orion? Is that you? Where are we?"

Optimus hesitated. It would just be like Megatron to try and trick him after they’d worked so well together.

"Orion Pax? That _is_ you, isn’t it?" Megatron pushed himself to his pedes.

"What do you remember?" Optimus asked.

Megatron blinked. "I… I’m not sure. I remember the Pits. I remember _you_. But everything seems so far away." He looked around the carved walls of Unicron’s spark chamber. "What is this place?"

He appeared to be genuine. Optimus pushed his instincts aside, he had trusted Megatron too many times and ended up hurt or worse. He should take advantage of Megatron's confusion — even if he was truthful, it would still be a hard-won battle.

He readied his blades.

"Orion?"

In Optimus Prime's spark, Orion Pax _screamed_.

The dissonance stalled Optimus. He was Orion Pax and Orion Pax was him. Their desires and goals of wanting to protect all sentient life aligned and there had been many reasons Orion had been chosen to bear the burden of the Matrix of Leadership.

Yet, when it came to Megatron, the difference in opinion had nearly caused him to reject the Matrix.

Optimus loved his friends, but no more than that. He loved all life, but no less than that. He had no interest in making a conjunx, no desire to interface.

But Orion did.

Orion loved Megatronus with all his spark and more. He had prevented Optimus from landing a finishing blow more than once. He wanted Megatron to stop, they agreed there, but he could not stand the thought of him truly offline.

Orion mostly slept, deep within Optimus's spark. Should the Matrix ever be removed, Optimus held little hope for Orion waking and, if he did, no expectation that he would remember anything of his time as Optimus Prime. Perhaps, with this use of the Matrix to pacify Unicron — a use that Optimus had not expected to walk away from — Orion’s slumber had been disturbed.

Megatron was growing impatient; this was not the time for speculation. Optimus forced his combat protocols to power down and transformed his blades away.

"This is the body of Unicron," Optimus said.

Megatron laughed. "That Unmaker? Really? You must think me a fool, Orion Pax."

Optimus was saved from trying to find an answer by his Autobots bursting into the chamber.

"Optimus, are you okay?" Bulkhead called.

"Optimus?" Megatron repeated.

"I am fine, Bulkhead." Optimus waved them to stand down.

"Who are you, that you dare to wear my friend’s face and steal his voice?" Megatron snarled, blade engaging with a familiar _thunk_ that triggered warnings from Optimus’s combat protocols.

"What’s going on, Optimus?" Arcee asked.

"Autobots, stand down," Optimus ordered. He held his servos out to Megatron, showing he was unarmed. "Megatronus, there have been many developments of which you appear to be unaware."

"Then I would like an explanation," Megatron said, not blinking at the use of his old name. "Quickly."

It could still be a trick, yet another deception, but something in Optimus’s spark wanted this to be the truth _so_ much.

"I was once called Orion Pax, but I now go by the name Optimus Prime," Optimus said.

"A Prime." Megatron’s face went blank and unreadable. "Truly, of all the mechs on Cybertron, _you_ were chosen to be Prime?"

Optimus nodded.

For a moment he feared the worst. Megatron’s right servo flexed, like he wanted to stab or shoot something. Then Megatron grinned.

"Ha! That must have taken you by surprise!" Megatron retracted his sword and slung his arm around Optimus’s shoulders. It was by sheer force of will that Optimus didn’t react to the threat of Megatron being so close by engaging his weaponry. "Well, if it couldn’t be me, I’m glad it’s you."

Oh, that _hurt_.

"Now, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends," Megatron said. He misread the fear and anger on the Autobots’ faceplates. "Don’t fret, I might be formidable in the arena, but I can be civil to the upper-castes when the need arises."

"I find that hard to believe," Arce said through gritted denta.

Megatron laughed, forcefully and with an edge of threat like always, yet it lacked the true bite of cruelty that Optimus heard more and more of as the war lingered on.

Optimus made his decision.

He wasn't a skilled liar, and the rest of the Autobots weren't much better, however Optimus wouldn't — _couldn't_ — pass this chance by. A second chance for Megatronus's passionate drive to be directed into protection rather than tyranny.

A second chance to quiet the dissonance in Optimus's spark, one way or another.

"Of course, Megatronus. Come, we have much to talk about."

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi over at [transformersvn.tumblr.com](https://transformersvn.tumblr.com) where I make Transformers visual novels.


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